


Turn the ship around!

by BigDamnReader



Category: Firefly, White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: ABI (Alliance-Browncoat Investiagtion), Alternate Universe - Firefly Fusion, Crew as Crime Solving crew, Enemies to Friends, F/M, The Tams do crime, and they love it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigDamnReader/pseuds/BigDamnReader
Summary: Simon and River Tam are criminals. Malcom Reynolds and his team are not...at this moment. When Simon escapes from prison, Mal realises they can use his skills as a White Collar criminal to catch the elusive Octavious who's been on their watchlist for a while. So long as River doesn't convince her brother to run away first.Come along and read a story about crime hijinks, found families, and a crime solver one step away from just throwing the book at everyone. AKA. Matt Bomer and Sean Maher look alike and I wanted to write a White Collar crossover in these trying times.
Relationships: Malcom Reynolds & Simon Tam, Malcom Reynolds/Inara Serra, River Tam & Simon Tam
Kudos: 2





	Turn the ship around!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own either Firefly or White Collar. This is just a story based on both with twists from both stories . Hope you enjoy and stay safe guys.

The bathroom was eerily quiet. Devoid of the usual scuffles, shuffles, and shouting voices of men wound far too tight to do anything else, it seemed like a room detached from the rest of the world. Simon paused regularly, straining to hear footsteps or voices. He crept a few steps more and paused again. Move. Stop. Move. Stop. Four months of work and stress would not go to waste because of a lack of caution.  
Reaching the far toilet he put his hand around the back, face scrunching in disgust at the smell. He felt plastic, and let out a breath of relief. Drawing his hand back, he loosed a bright grin at the large R clear on the paper he could see inside the bag. His sister could never resist a little showmanship (womanship?), even at the worst times. He pulled the guard uniform out with care, noticing every small crinkling noise he made. Looking back towards the still closed door, he quickly pulled the orange grey jumpsuit off and swapped it with the polyester nightmare in his hands. He put the bag and his clothes back behind the toilet.  
Moving over to the mirrors, he reached into the trouser pocket and grabbed the disposable razor he knew he would find in there. It didn't take long to shave and slick his hair back; the movements achingly familiar. He dropped the razor down the sink, turned to the door, and walked out with a confidence he didn't feel. There was no time to hesitate now.  
The corridor was thankfully empty but he refused to speed up. The door to the workshop was in front of him and he marched through it, head up and doing his best to avoid eye contact with any of the prisoners or guards in the busy room. Out the corner of his eyes, he could see various prisoners staring at him, the fellowship forged by crappy meals and a lack of privacy keeping their silence. A guard started moving towards him and he did his best to keep breathing. So close. To be discovered now would be the death of him. The guard simply walked by him and he let out a quick hiss of air. Simon shook himself mentally and marched on.  
The door to the outside walkway was shut and he promised his soul to any god that could find it that the electronic key he had made would work. Flimsy plastic was held to the reader. Nothing. Nothing. Nothin- beep. His heart put itself back in his chest as he pushed the metal bars open, nodding to the guard standing on the other side. He pushed it closed behind him and carried on, feet guiding him along corridors long memorised. The journey to the guardroom was realtively stress free and he passed without contest to the guards' entrance. The key card flashed out his pocket again and he pulled the heavy door towards himself.  
"Hey!"  
The shout stiffened him. He let out a shaky breath and turned his head around, refusing to release the door in case he needed to run through it. A bored-looking guard was sat at the desk and staring hard at him, not saying anything. Simon swallowed.  
"Yeah?"  
"Enjoy your off time, yeah?" Said the guard, smiling obliviously.  
Simon nodded back at him with a wobbly smile and stepped through the gate, and into freedom. 

Mal Reynolds, task leader of ABI White Collar crime, Persephone division, stood tense. Left ear strained to the box in front of him, he moved with the air of a man equal parts cautious and eager. Seven months of endless paper scouring and report filing had led to this: A locked deposit box in a small-time bank for small-time people. Octavious was not a small-time person. A seasoned white collar criminal, Mal's team had poured countless man-hours into finding anything about the forger, and now they finally had a solid bit of info.  
He couldn't hear any ticking and the basic scans Kaylee had performed hadn't shown any explosives. He rubbed his hand through his hair, and made his mind up.  
Snick.  
The lid of box opened. Nothing happened. Mal carefully lifted the lid the rest of the way up, painfully aware of his team watching with great interest. To his slight dismay, there were no neon signs or flashy goods telling him the identity of the elusive man; just some papers and envelopes. He pulled out the top sheet.  
NICE TRY  
Suddenly the smell of smoke and a flash of light flooded his senses. Shouting erupted as confusion descended among the gathered agents. Footsteps moved in hurried fashion as everyone clamored to find out what had happened. Himself feeling no pain, Mal opened his eyes to see a smouldering fire dying in the safety box. Much like their chance, he grumbled. He called for silence.  
"Did anybody see anything attached to the box?"  
Dumb stares replied and he sighed bitterly.  
"Really? Nobody saw any wires or switches?" Getting no reply still, Mal shook his head. He had no right to be angry when he hadn't expected anything either. Watching seven months of work fly off the wall was still hard to swallow though. He couldn't wait to get his hands around the guy's neck. He was about to speak again, to issue orders or condolences he didn't know, when he spied Zoe heading towards him. She had been waiting in the main lobby, watching for any suspicious people. He hoped she had some good news.  
"Sir?"  
She didn't. It was the tone. God, he was starting to wish he hadn't rolled out of bed this morning. This day couldn't get any worse.  
"Yeah Zo?"  
"Federal marshals want to talk to you."  
"Me? Why?"  
"Tam's escaped." And just like that, the universe proved him wrong. 

The prison was a grim place. Especially grim, one might even argue. Barren walls and metal bars were the bread and butter for decorations. The focal piece was a towering stairway that was supposed to make inmate surveillance easier. Persephone supermax was advertised as being escape free. That would have to change, however.  
As Mal glared into the watery eyes of Warden Whedon, he couldn't stop his mind from thinking back to the years of long nights and hard days of constant surveillance, cross-checking, paper trail hunts, and inter-verse cooperation it took to capture Simon Tam. A small lifetime of work destroyed by one complacent warden who lived on his laurels. Whedon, rightfully, looked terrified. Mal couldn't find it in himself to be forgiving.  
Zoe nudged him as the marshal approached, and they shook hands with appropriate seriousness. Both were led down a long corridor lined with barren cells.  
"I' m not sure how it happened. Tam was watched just as much as all the others." Said the warden pleadingly.  
"How did he get out the doors?" Mal asked, noting the card readers attatched to each gate.  
The marshal noticed what he was looking at and was quick to appease the simmering agent. "We believe he used a wiped utility card and got the code onto it."  
Tam smarts again. Boy was too clever for his own good and that was what landed him in trouble. They arrived at Simon's cell and Mal had to take a second to avoid reacting.  
It was...small. Achingly so. Tam had been such a charming character that such a cell didn't seem like it could fit him. A tape player was the only noticable personal object. The walls were pale and bare, apart from tally lines the young man had used to mark out the days left on his sentence. Three months left. That was all. Three years and nine months completed, and the boy decided to run. Why?  
Zoe wandered in behind him and picked up a thick book about car repair, a prison library slip falling out one of the center pages. The page was titled 'Starting without keys', and Mal grimaced at the realisation. Everything for the escape had practically been handed to him. Anything he didn't have he could ealily have procured through writing to his contacts. Mal had requested Tam not be allowed to communicate outside the prison but, due to him being convicted of only one crime, the judge had seen that as too harsh a restriction.  
The glint of a mirror caught his attention, and he pulled it from under the bed. Along with it came a small tub of beard cream. Mal stopped moving.  
"Why does he have beard cream? Tam doesn't have a beard."  
The Warden was silent a moment, seemingly unaware Mal had spoken to him. The marshall beside him gave him a small nudge and the balding head popped up.  
"He did. Last few months he's been a-growing one. There ain't a law against that."  
"Yeah, but when it's a con man trying out a disguise, it may as well be. Bet your last credit we'll find a razor stashed about here someplace." Mal stood and stared around. "Only thing I can't figure is why he ran. Boy only had three months left."  
"Sir, I might have an idea." Good old Zoe. He turned to her and accepted the bits of uncrinkled paper she had pulled from Simon's pillowcase. They were addressed to Gabriel and Reagen Tam. Strange. Simon's parents had deliberately and obviously disowned both their children when it was discovered just what the two had been up to. Simon might have been the only sibling convicted, but that was only because River couldn't be found.  
The letters were, to be frank, depressing. They pleaded with Parents Tam to reconsider what they had done, to apologise, to beg forgiveness. Over and over Simon was trying to write an appeal for reconnection. The bottom one was different though. From Gabriel, it was a stern, short piece of writing warning Simon away. Telling him they were leaving. He glanced up at the date.  
Bingo.  
Four months ago his parents drop the bombshell they're leaving for good. Tam was always sentimental in a strange way and it must have struck him hard. He probably wasn't overly fussed about them leaving, but four years locked away with limited contact and an ever-increasing need to have people, have a family, must have tipped him over the edge. He chanced a look at the date again and found, to his delight, an address. Looks like the universe was paying him back.

The door to the uptown penthouse swung open easily, and Mal couldn't hear anything coming from within. Not caring to sneak or shuffle through the space, Mal simply nodded at Zoe, and together they proceeded into the main space.The room was completely empty. Almost There, just as he'd known he'd find, Simon Tam lay slumped against a pillar. Usually spotless, the young man looked haggard and worn down. Messy hair and bags that could rival a Guccii, Tam merely glanced up at the pair, then moved his eyes away.  
He half hoped to find River sitting with him, but he figured the verse wouldn't be that kind. Not all at once any way.  
"They asked me what makes a guy with three months left on his sentence run."  
Simon sighed wearily and shot him a joyless smile. "Guess you figured it out, huh?"  
"Yeah. I assume they were gone when you got here?"  
Simon didn't bother to reply. In his hands, he played with a music box, adorned with a ballerina. Zoe moved away from them, searching the rest of the apartment and giving the fed team below the all clear.  
"She didn't come for you?"  
"I didn't ask. She was against this from the start."  
"The escape or the crime?" He asked sardonically. Simon just snorted at him then frowned.  
"You still wearing that ragged brown coat?"  
"It's my good luck symbol. Helped me catch you didn't it."  
Simon chuckled and pushed himself up using the wall. The action looked exhausting, and Mal resisted the urge to offer him a hand. He didn't bother asking him about the consequences; Tam had never cared for them and knew what he was letting himself in for when he escaped. He realised Simon was still staring at him. No, not at him. Something on him. The younger man stepped forward. Mal stepped back.  
"You carrying?"  
Simon had the nerve to look insulted. "You know I don't." Like a flash he shot a hand out and grabbed something from Mal's coat. He held it up to the light and smiled like a kid with a toy. It looked like an ordinary piece of fluff to him.  
"If I tell you what it's worth, will you agree to a meeting?"  
The offer took him by surprise, so much so that he didn't even realise he could hear the fed's coming up the stairs until Simon asked him again.  
"I'm not doing anything for you Tam."  
"I'm not asking you too," the Fed's were at the door now, and Zoe had made her way back to his side. "Just a meeting, that's all I ask." He looked so open, so desperate that Mal knew, even before he agreed, that he would go to see him. Simon's face changed to a smile, and as the Fed's roughly pulled his hands behind him, he looked Mal straight in the eye.  
"It's the new security fiber for the Alliance Hundred platinum note."


End file.
